


What's Opera, Myc?

by trillian_jdc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Epistolary, First Meetings, M/M, Operas, Spoilers for La Boheme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24609328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc
Summary: Mycroft Holmes secretly has an opera review website. Greg Lestrade accidentally discovers it, not knowing who runs it, and asks for a recommendation.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 39
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

Mycroft Holmes prided himself on his portrait of the proper English gentleman. Always knew the right thing to say, even if it meant using many words to convey not much of anything. Always dressed classically, since a three-piece suit fit in almost anywhere he wanted to be. Never drew too much attention to himself, but if necessary, conveyed an air of power or menace to those who would as a result follow his expectations (with the notable exception of family members, whom he'd generally given up on).

Part of this portrayal was attending the correct social events. A subscription to the right seasons of the opera or the ballet was expected, and brushing elbows with the other box-holders allowed for any number of words dropped in the right ears or observations made that would later underpin just the right political plans. Tickets could be gifted or invitations made that would create favors to be returned. An up-and-comer who wasn't quite sure yet of society's expectations could be made quite loyal and thankful with an evening shared and a few guiding words on how to navigate the season. Plus, supporting talented artists was an emotionally rewarding use of funds.

Thankfully, Mycroft actually enjoyed opera. Some of the modern presentations were amusing, particularly in how they challenged the stuffier season ticket holders. Others provided an evening of beautiful music, emotional situations in various languages, glorious costumes, and frequently an overly dramatic death to cap things off. He'd taken mental notes once or twice on a particular gesture or lighting effect that he could use as an influence for his own manipulations. And he got to dress up.

Not all performances were equal, of course, and he found that often, the details made the evening worthwhile or not. His own theatrical interests were set by the wayside long ago -- well, the formal stagings, anyway. But there wasn't any harm in making a few notes on what could improve adequate productions or make good ones great.

If his brother could create a website for 243 types of tobacco ash -- and thank goodness he'd stuck with tobacco -- then his own minor suggestions wouldn't go amiss in an odd little corner of the internet. Anonymously, of course. It wouldn't do for anyone to connect his polished-yet-unnoticed attendance with his well-reasoned essay on the proper type of costume sequin and illusion netting for the standard lighting used at the Royal Opera House. But writing about the details of what made for great work allowed Mycroft to separate the art from the money and politics. It might be unrealistic, but contemplating such things watered his soul, just a bit. It didn't matter if anyone read his musings, or acted upon them.

After a particularly rewarding post about the one wrong note the tenor hit during Friday evening's performance, though, he began to wonder if he might actually have a readership. He began receiving email, intermittently, at the generic masked address connected to the site, telling him his hits were increasing, and even the occasional comment was left. Given the obscurity of his site and his topics, he was pleased to note that when his readers left remarks, they were thoughtful, restrained, and pleasant in their responses to his thoughts and writing. Their quiet appreciation fed his desire to recommend performers and presentations that deserved more attention, and they seemed to value his opinions in spite of knowing nothing more about him.

* * *

So things continued for several seasons, with Mycroft writing commentary whenever his day-to-day tasks became too overwhelming, and a bit of small discussion building a tiny online community, but a comfortable one. Then came a well-meaning but clueless query, left on his latest review, from a new user calling themselves "Dabbler in London".

> _Hello. I apologize for not being able to better respond to this piece. You make the show sound brilliant. I was wondering if you or your readers could suggest a good starting opera. My niece is coming to London next week and is interested but has only seen it on the telly. I'd like to treat her to an evening out but don't know how to pick one a teenager would enjoy (and her mother wouldn't object to). Can you help?_

Mycroft has no idea what a teenager would like, specifically, but more information is always useful. That evening, he leaves a comment in response.

> _Welcome, Dabbler. I will attempt to assist. Can you give me some more idea of what other entertainment your niece prefers? As with any other medium, there is no one right choice for everyone, but the more you can tell me about her tastes, perhaps what she's already seen, the more helpful I can be. Have you attended a live opera yourself?_

He's surprised to see an answer come back within the hour. Dabbler is either anxious or doesn't have much else to do that evening.

> _She's seen some live theater, and she likes to be challenged, so long as the music is good and the staging top-notch._ Hamilton _was a favorite, as was_ Six _and_ Fun Home _. Me, I haven't seen any opera; my music tastes are considered old-fashioned these days, but only from decades ago, not centuries. That's how we started going to shows together, one of those nostalgia musicals was featuring songs from my teen years that I used to sing in bars._

Mycroft realizes that the questioner is a bit older than him, but not by much, given the time period of the jukebox musicals that have run over the past few years. He scans through his mental notes on what shows will be coming up in the next few months that would be suitable for a young lady. As the discussion is leaning towards more personal information, he emails Dabbler directly.

> _Dabbler, I hope you will excuse my invasion of your inbox, but I was concerned about discussing too much about a teenage relative in public, even within a limited group._
> 
> _I believe a good choice would be the staging of_ La Boheme _due to open shortly. It's a classic, and it inspired the musical_ Rent _, which may give her a point of connection. There's a weekend matinee with an introduction period beforehand that she might appreciate, as they discuss the show's history and context and some of the staging decisions made._
> 
> _I am intrigued that you are a singer, even if long ago. I admire your willingness to put yourself on stage, as vocal performance is something I appreciate from a distance, not having talent in that area myself._
> 
> _I hope this suggestion was helpful to you, and thank you for finding my comments worth your time and attention._

Once again, he receives a reply shortly.

> _Your security considerations are much appreciated. I've seen too much go wrong online, and you're right, I don't want Katie's information out there._
> 
> _That's an excellent idea, thank you very much for taking the time. I'm sure someone as accomplished as you, even if not a singer, has better things to do with their evening than help out a virtual stranger._

Mycroft can't let that stand, sending out one more email before leaving the computer for the night.

> _Please don't concern yourself. I am happy to foster an appreciation for the arts in the younger generation to keep a vibrant and still-relevant form alive. Should I be worried instead about your evening, given your response times?_

The next morning, he awakes to find his anonymous correspondent has been busy.

> _It's true, I don't have much to do if I'm not working. My job is such that the hours can be erratic, so I know to answer when I can, and I appreciate a quiet evening where I have time to talk to knowledgeable strangers._
> 
> _I've been browsing more of your site, and I'm impressed by your attention to detail. Reminds me of someone I work with, sometimes, in how you can pick up so much from a small item and then explain to the rest of us why it's important. At least you don't call your readers idiots along the way._
> 
> _I don't know what possessed Katie to develop an interest in opera -- seems an odd thing for a girl these days, but she's super-smart and not afraid to like what she likes. Better than those reality shows, anyway._
> 
> _The music's a far cry from my old man rock, but I can understand the passions. And the deaths. Seems odd to enjoy that in entertainment, but better on the stage than on the street._
> 
> _Anyway, too late it is, and no need to be morbid. Thank again for your time and suggestion._

Mycroft has a sudden suspicion that his anonymous fan is known to him. Someone who works odd hours, who drops references to death into casual conversation, and who has to listen to someone rudely explain important details? It would be quite the coincidence, but then he notices once again the pseudonym his new correspondent chose, with the initials DIL. He sets it aside for the moment, as no one has said anything too revealing, and he responds once more, for etiquette's sake.

> _I hope both you and your niece enjoy the performance, Dabbler. I would be curious to know what she thinks, as I have never spoken to someone under 40 who willingly attended an opera._

* * *

The weekend comes and goes, with no response to his question, so Mycroft puts the correspondence out of his mind. It isn't unusual for a casual online conversation to drop, or for someone to move on once they've gotten the information they wanted. Then comes a disappointing followup.

> _I'm sorry, but I can't answer your last question. We weren't able to make it to_ La Boheme _\-- bloody work got in the way, and the rest of the shows are sold out. Bad enough I couldn't spend as much time with her as hoped. Katie was heartbroken, but she put a good face on it._

Mycroft ponders. If his supposition is correct, there's little risk, and he's already seen _La Boheme_ several times.

> _My condolences to you for the difficult situation you were put in. We have previously discussed security, so please be aware I will comply with whatever restrictions you find necessary -- but I would be grateful, if you were able, for you and your niece to use my box to attend the closing night performance on Friday._

The response comes quickly, as both correspondents are apparently online that evening.

> _Mate, that's too generous. She'd love it, but you don't know us, and I don't know you. I couldn't take such a valuable gift from a stranger without a background check!_

Mycroft relies on the balance of probability and decides it's worthwhile to reveal himself. He has great faith in his brother's police contact, and he has long admired the man's ability to keep a good thought and a civil tongue while dealing with Sherlock. An invitation would be an excellent opportunity to encourage and strengthen those virtues and connections. (Plus, a small voice whispers, it would be a treat to see the man dressed for a formal evening occasion.)

> _That won't be necessary, DI Lestrade. I believe you work with my brother._  
>  _\-- Mycroft Holmes_


	2. Chapter 2

Once Greg Lestrade has finished alternately cursing imaginatively in surprise at his email and wondering at the smallness of the world, he and Mycroft exchange a series of messages, making their first forays into getting to know each other. Greg has heard Sherlock mention a brother once or twice, as a passing threat, someone to avoid, but his correspondence with Mycroft is nothing but pleasant. They don't talk about work much, instead discussing music and London and what they enjoy doing when they have rare free time. 

Greg accepts the tickets, but only if Mycroft joins them. He can't resist the opportunity to meet another Holmes, particularly one who seems polite and thoughtful, and one with whom he has a surprising amount in common, based on their chat so far. The two men arrange to meet at the opera house half an hour before the performance. 

Mycroft provides a crisp description of himself, all in relation to Sherlock: "Older. Slightly taller. Less hair, combed back. No curls. Proper suit, with waistcoat and tie." He doesn't mention that he's smarter. He's found that rarely goes well as an introduction. 

Greg wonders to himself why, when they've avoided the subject previously, Mycroft compares himself to his brother when it comes to appearance, but then he decides to stop thinking about Sherlock's looks. Greg would describe himself, but Mycroft reassures him that he's seen one of the press photos. Greg changes the subject after that. 

* * *

The day of, Mycroft's car drops him off, and he sees a blinding smile as Greg waves at him from the steps. "Mr. Holmes! Over here." They shake hands, Lestrade clasping Mycroft's in both of his and expressing again his gratitude. Mycroft feels a warmth steal up his arm from more than the welcoming hands. He doesn't usually experience such a "hail, fellow, well met" welcome at the opera. His other acquaintances are more reserved, and more likely to be looking for something from him. The favor for Greg was a simple gift, in comparison, and Greg is obviously thankful, but there's a hearty love of life shining forth that makes it less transactional, more ... fun. 

After they drop their grip, Greg beckons to the girl with him. "Let me introduce you to Katie Hopkins. Katie, this is the gentleman who made this possible." The girl politely shakes his hand and says, "Thank you, sir. I've been looking forward to this very much." She's obviously made an effort while still expressing her personality, wearing a knee-length, full-skirted dress in a playful cat pattern with a cardigan over. A good choice, Mycroft thinks, as she's too young for formal or fancy. 

He responds, "It's a pleasure to hear it, Miss Hopkins. I hope you enjoy the performance." Mycroft turns to Lestrade. "Please, call me Mycroft. I owe you a great deal for your patience and hard work in dealing with my brother."

"Only if you call me Greg. It's past time we've met, anyway. I suspect we have a lot in common, and I want stories I can use to shut Sherlock up when I need to."

Mycroft smirks at Greg's innate grasp of effective power dynamics when it comes to his brother. Also, he was correct. Greg's silver hair and tan skin look wonderful in a classic dark suit.

As he scans the crowd of people beginning to filter into the venue, he notes, out of the corner of his eye, how Katie keeps tugging on her uncle's sleeve to whisper in his ear while glancing at him, then away. He's used to the effect his voice and wardrobe and even height have on people, but he wants her to feel welcome and relax. Given how unusual it is for him to appear with a young person, he's sure that this is only the beginning of people talking about him tonight. Normally, he would take note of who has particular interest in family dynamics and play up the connection for later exploitation, but tonight he doesn't want to use the young lady as a prop. Greg might take it amiss. 

"Shall we go in, Miss Hopkins?" He offers her his arm. When Greg nods at her, she takes it. He leads her in as Greg follows the pair. 

* * *

The box is well-stocked with soda, champagne, and tasty nibbles that aren't too exotic. The mini cream puffs, with various flavored fillings, are a particular hit. Mycroft gives his guests the two front chairs for an unobstructed view, while he sits behind. The shadow allows him to better observe, an activity that's disrupted by Greg's instance on drawing them all into conversation. His jocular good character works surprisingly well at keeping the three of them involved until it's time for the curtain to rise. Mycroft is enjoying himself in a completely different fashion than his usual pattern of attendance, even waving away those visitors who try to interrupt or seek his attention. 

Katie loves the opera, it turns out. At each act break, they discuss the major happenings in the plot and the most affecting musical elements. Mycroft teaches Katie a bit of Italian while Greg keeps their drinks topped up and smiles at the two getting along. Mycroft attempts to apologize for monopolizing her attention, to which Greg responds, "Nah, she's seen plenty of me. Go on." He seems fascinated by Mycroft's language fluency. 

It's a shame that the lovely evening is once again interrupted by work. The character of Mimi dies at the end, but when the curtain doesn't rise for bows and applause after the ending death scene, Mycroft and Greg look at each other. They're both suspicious of the disruption of routine. 

Greg is the first to speak. "I'd better go backstage. Make sure things are proceeding as expected." 

Mycroft nods. "We shall stay here." They exchange mobile numbers to keep in touch. Mycroft summons an attendant and requests that she guide Greg through the theater. 

Greg tells Katie that he's got an errand to run, but Mycroft will keep her company until he returns. The distraction works, and she barely notices her uncle's departure as the two opera buffs settle in to dissect the performance.

When his mobile signals, Mycroft discreetly checks the text from Greg. 

_The cordial glass has disappeared, and Mimi is truly dead. Gonna be a long night. Can you take her home?_

This is not the Lestrade family member Mycroft would have first chosen to go home with, but needs must. The young lady doesn't need or want to know the details of her uncle's work. She's not Sherlock. Mycroft messages back. 

_Check Rodolfo's medical history. Don't worry about Katie. Whenever possible, no matter the time, come to this address._

Mycroft adds his home address, then summons a car. "Miss Hopkins, Katie, your uncle will be delayed. I have his permission to take you to my home, where you can change, if you wish, and relax. My assistant will meet us there." It's old-fashioned, but Mycroft is more comfortable allowing a teenager to visit when they'll be chaperoned. His habits are private enough that someone might seize any opportunity to start a rumor, although the most juicy gossip tonight will flow from the events on stage and behind the curtain. 

Mycroft has already asked Anthea to obtain loungewear in the young woman's size; a _Rent_ DVD to distract her; and a selection of snacks, juices, and food for breakfast. 

* * *

Katie is asleep in the guest room, after valiantly trying to stay up, when Greg finally arrives at Mycroft's house. He's riding an adrenaline high, having forced himself past fatigue into jittery wakefulness. He greets Mycroft abruptly, "How'd you know? You didn't even see the body or the scene!" 

Mycroft gently forces Greg through to the sitting room, having him relax into an overstuffed chair and take off his shoes. Mycroft has already changed into soft olive corduroy trousers with a burgundy jumper over a subdued plaid button-down in the same tones. He's prepared a nightcap, a light cocktail to allow Greg to wind down while sharing his thoughts on the events. A few sips and some conversation will allow Greg to get out the high points and clear his mind, hopefully enough to allow for a few hours' sleep. 

Once they're settled, Mycroft responds to Greg's question. He preens, a bit, before revealing that the actor who played Rodolfo had notoriously (among theater folk) had a breakdown when he wasn't chosen for the lead in a high-profile restaging of _Romeo and Juliet_ the previous season. On stage tonight, Mycroft had noted a nervousness to his performance that wasn't intentional and the occasional miscue, a wrong note that would have better belonged in the other score. 

Given the hint, Greg had been able to establish that the actor had lost track of his role and poisoned his leading lady. The actor's long-time dresser, in the ensuing confusion, had stolen the prop glass to try and hide his involvement. Both would more likely end up getting medical treatment instead of prison sentences. 

"Unfortunate," Mycroft notes, as the two chat from adjoining chairs, "that this reinforces the stereotype of theatrical performers being mentally unwell." 

Greg snorts. "Unfortunate that I missed spending time with Katie on her last night here!" Now more relaxed, work set aside, he turns to Mycroft, slyly grinning. "So, going to write about this for your website, Mr. Secret Reviewer?" 

Mycroft straightens himself before starting to reinforce to Greg how important it is that no one learns of his private hobby when Greg gently elbows him and says "Just taking the mickey, Mycroft. I know how to keep a confidence. No one will learn it from me." A thought strikes him. "Does Sherlock know?" 

Mycroft hmphs. "To the best of my knowledge, Sherlock does not know nor care. I am, to him, a credit card, a skeleton key, a get out of jail and hospital pass, a security camera, the world's worst nanny, and a filter between him and our parents. A tool, in short, to get him what he wants at the moment, and damn the consequences." Mycroft hadn't realized he was that bitter about his relationship with his brother. "Apologies. You do not deserve nor have you asked to be dragged into the long-standing cold war between us." 

"Think I'm already there, mate. But I know whose side I'd pick, and it's the one that kept him alive, in spite of his idiocies. You're a good brother, Mycroft, because he's still out there." Greg puts his glass aside and rubs his hands together. "Now, I'm knackered. Which sofa am I on, and do you have any track pants I can borrow?" 

* * *

The next morning comes much too early. Mycroft rarely eats breakfast in his kitchen, let alone in his pajamas and dressing gown, never mind finding himself joined by a perky young woman and a gorgeously rumpled man in a white vest and borrowed pajama bottoms. Greg keeps yawning and running his hands through his hair, which combined with seeing the silver-haired detective in his borrowed clothes, gives Mycroft ideas that are inappropriate in mixed company. He quietly sips his tea while Katie tries to get more information about the events of the prior evening out of her uncle. 

Greg offers to cook as a way of avoiding her questions, which is how Mycroft winds up with half a spinach and mushroom omelet in front of him. Katie has a bacon and cheese version. Greg takes the other half of both, which he combines. There's a surprising amount of laughter and teasing, which a tea-sipping Mycroft is included in, mildly, so as not to spook him. "Smack us down, Mycroft, if it's too much. We're a rambunctious lot," Greg grants him permission. 

All too soon, Greg and Katie have dressed and are leaving. The opera ticket replacement meant she took an extra trip to London, and she's due back to anxious parents. Greg's got to retrieve her things from his place and put her on a train. As she runs off to gather her things from last night -- "please, the clothing is a gift," Mycroft reminds her, "and don't forget the DVD" -- Greg stands next to Mycroft, suddenly reticent to look at him. 

Greg sighs. "That was an amazing evening, even so. You've been a prince through all this. She's so impressed that Uncle Greg even knows someone like you, let alone the tickets and the treats and your posh car... can't thank you enough. This has been a trip to remember. She keeps growing up, and there won't be many more of these moments." 

"You're a wonderful uncle, Greg. It was my pleasure to assist, and to share something I love with such an impressive young person. I do hope, though, that you would be amenable to another encounter." 

"Dunno when she'll be back in London, but sure." 

"I didn't mean," Mycroft trails off and starts again, gathering his self-possession around him like a blanket. "Not only with her. I would like to continue our acquaintance, if that is something you would be interested in. It wouldn't have to be another opera. I would appreciate the chance to learn more about you no matter the activity."

Greg finally turns to look at Mycroft. "That'd be great, but just so we're clear... I'd like to try a date with you. If you meant something friendly, that's fine, but I don't want us going at it with mixed signals, right?"

Mycroft swallows. Suddenly his throat is tight. "Congratulations, Greg, you have managed to surprise me. I had no idea your interests were such that that was a possibility. If we are placing our cards on the table, I would be interested in the date. Yes. I think so." 

Just as Mycroft is trying to set up something definite, Katie returns, and the departure whirlwind sweeps them out, the door closing behind the two. Mycroft slumps into the nearest chair, the events of the weekend suddenly overwhelming. His mobile dings. 

_Go back to bed, Mycroft. We'll make plans later this afternoon, after I get her away and take a nap._

Mycroft assumes, with a declaration of intent made, his return text will be well-received.

_There's space here, Greg, if you'd like company for that nap._

_Oooh you flirt! Wouldn't get any sleep that way. All I could think about, when you were talking Italian with Katie, was your agile tongue._

If Greg continues to be able to cause his mind to blank, Mycroft thinks, this could get dangerous very quickly. He recovers and volleys. 

_You were very handsome in your suit. You inspired me to euphony._

After Mycroft reads Greg's answer, he realizes the man is more clever than he pretends to be. And has a fondness for puns. 

_Certainly a night that will live in. Sleep well, Mycroft._

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies for the ridiculous title. 
> 
> I know very little about opera -- every time I go, it's _Die Fledermaus_ , because people think it's funny to take a comic book fan to a show with a bat costume -- so my thanks to [Mice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mice), [Phoenixrising2014](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixrising2014), [hippocrates460](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocrates460), and [Magenta_Black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magenta_Black) for helping with the idea, its development, and the background.


End file.
